“So,” he replied, figuring quickly in his head, “we dropped it to a Category one?”
“For now,” she agreed, smiling. “Actually, we haven’t proven conclusively that ‘we’ did anything, but the storm is much weaker now than it was before you seeded it.”
She saw him chew over all that was and was not said, and then his smile returned. “How long will you all stick with this?”
Andrea looked around the room. It was closing in on ten PM, and the storm was not going to hit land soon. There were others who would gather the tapes and film from the observation plane. It was time to shut down for the night.
“I think it’s about time we called it a day,” she said. “Lieutenant, can we wrap up that chart? I think we can say that any significant change we caused in the storm will show up in the data we’ve gathered. Anything from here on out is on Mother Nature, and she doesn’t need us to babysit when she throws a tantrum.”
The lieutenant nodded. He made some final marks on the chart and slid the folding arm to the side of the chart table. He pinned the map in place carefully and picked up a large, clear piece of Plexiglas from where it leaned against the side of the table. He spread this over the map to protect it and grabbed his hat.
“I don’t care what they say,” he told Andrea as he passed on his way to the door, Petty Officer Carlson in tow. “I believe we were behind that change. The timing, and the radical nature of the shift we saw don’t fit as natural occurrence.”
Andrea nodded. She believed he was right, and she appreciated the support. If she could get the same common sense attitude out of a couple of congressmen, or a general, she’d be able to stay in business until they had the damned hurricanes on leashes.
“See you tomorrow,” she said. “We’ll wrap this all up, gather the data, and take it back to the lab for analysis.”
Turning to Briggs, she asked, “Did you get everything you need, Tom? I can have the rest of it ready by the end of the week.”
“No hurry,” Briggs assured her. “It’s going to take time to sift through all of this, and I’m realigning the program a bit. I developed an algorithm that should allow us to cut out more of the interference. If I’m right, we’ll be able to say with more clarity what we did, and did not cause. I’ll have to reconfigure again, of course,” he looked over at Phil and nodded. “I sure didn’t expect them to take that load down so low. It was a good thought.”
“I just didn’t want to waste my time,” Phil replied. “When we saw how much larger the storm had grown, I made the call to concentrate the loads instead of trying to fan out along the entire length. What we had would have been lost over two hundred miles of ocean, and I doubt we’d have any results to analyze.”
“Like I said,” Briggs replied with a smile, “good call.”
“I’m going to do some calculations,” Tracy Brown said. “I think we might want to reconsider the fanned out approach altogether. If the result we just saw allowed this much of a shift in a Category two storm, then the problems we have faced in the past with much larger storms are changed as well. If we can concentrate on certain areas and not try to cover the entire storm, we might be able to take on one of the big boys.”
“Let’s hope we don’t get a storm any time soon to test that theory on,” Andrea replied with a frown. “I don’t want to see a big one any time soon, if ever.”
They all grew silent at this. Tracy and Tom gathered their things quickly and efficiently, and with their briefcases bulging, headed out the door, leaving Andrea and Phil standing alone in the empty office.
“It’s kind of late for a steak,” he said at last. “Could I interest you in a sandwich, and maybe a drink?”
Andrea hesitated. She had work to do, and she had to get home to her dog eventually. He was a very patient animal, but she knew he hated it when she was out too late.
His name was Buster. He was from the second generation of puppies left behind by Jake, who had died four years after the storm that brought the two of them together. Andrea’s mother hadn’t wanted the dog, but Andrea had put up such a fit that, in the end, Lilian Jamieson had given in.
“That would be nice,” she said at last. “Let me get my things.”
He watched her move about the office, straightening folders, turning off equipment, and packing a ridiculously thick stack of papers into her own briefcase. The thing was bulged like a cartoon suitcase primed to explode.
As they stepped into the hall together, she put it on the floor and turned to lock the door. Phil picked the case up without a word and carried it for her as they made their way to the elevator and outside. The TV van was long gone, and only the receding taillights of one of their companions’ car could be seen, disappearing into the night.
The wind had picked up, but the sky was clear, and the moon was bright. When the breeze teased a stray lock of Andrea’s hair away from her face, Phil shivered. Just for a moment, he saw that storm again, and the whirling, furious snake of air slashing toward him through the sky.
Andrea caught his stare and started to ask what was wrong, but the moment passed, and Phil’s smile returned full force.
“You’ll have to tell me what it looked like up there,” she said as they walked toward her car. “And then, if you like, I’ll tell you what they look like from the shore.”
Chapter Nine
Phil went up with Andrea while she dropped off her papers and fed the dog. Buster was bouncy and full of happy-to-see-her energy, and seeing the two of them together made Phil smile. He watched for a few moments, and then the dog came over to him, sniffed Phil’s shoes suspiciously and wagged his tail hopefully, all at the same time. Phil knelt on the floor and scratched Buster’s ears. The dog cocked his head to one side and thumped his tail hard on the carpet.
“Looks like you’ve made a new friend,” Andrea observed. She put away the dog food and poured fresh water into Buster’s bowl.
“Yeah,” Phil agreed, giving Buster’s ear a last scratch, “and the dog likes me too.”
He rose and stepped toward the door, and she followed. She couldn’t see his expression, so she missed the quick smile.
They ended up at a back table in a small pub nearby. The light was soft, the music softer. A candle flickered in the center of the table, creating a small circle of light around them. With the exception of the waitress, no one interrupted them.
“When we lost you on the radio,” Andrea told him, “I was worried that we’d lost you altogether. It was brave of you to drop down so close to the storm, but foolish.”
“I wouldn’t have taken the aircraft, or my co-pilot, lower than I believed was safe,” Phil replied. He might have taken offense at her words, but he chose not to. She wasn’t a pilot, so her reaction was understandable.
“I know others who have flown over hurricanes,” he told her. “The danger really isn’t from the storm, or its wind. It’s the intangibles—the things you can’t schedule around or predict. I thought it was a reasonable risk, but I’ll tell you the truth—when Matt spotted that waterspout coming at us, I definitely had second thoughts. It’s not the danger of flying that gets to a pilot, after a while. It’s the factors you can’t control. I guess it’s the same with almost everything, driving a car, playing football—you can be the best there is, but there will always come a time when things shift and your ability is only a shield. There are things coming at you from more sides than you can block.
“You can drive carefully all your life, but eventually someone will pull out in front of you when you are thinking about your dinner plans, or some kid will bounce a ball where it shouldn’t be. You can play football all the way through college and make it to the final game, only to have one of your own players fall on the back of your knee and ruin your leg. And you can get too cocky after flying through hell and back and start to take chances, just because it ‘should’ be okay.
“That’s what happened today,” he said. “I nearly lost a good man, and my aircraft, not to mention the
rest of my life—and tonight.” He smiled at her and took a sip from the beer the waitress had brought him. “And that couldn’t have happened if I’d maintained the five thousand feet. I just didn’t want the whole flight to be for nothing.”
“What do you mean?” Andrea asked, finally cutting in.
“The storm was too big,” he replied. “All of the planning I saw was to spread the silver iodide pellets over the entire eye-wall wall of a large tropical storm. What we found when we got there was a two hundred mile wide Category two hurricane, and the original plan was obviously not going to work. I could have just gone ahead with it, but I knew that wouldn’t get you any useful results, so I improvised. It’s a fault of mine, and this time that fault almost spilled over to hurt someone who trusted me.”
“He wouldn’t have agreed, or followed you, if he didn’t think you were right,” she admonished him, laying her hand across his gently. “And the other three pilots also released their loads at or near thirty-five hundred feet, on your orders. There was no way you could have anticipated the waterspout. It would have been worse over land, where the storm could have spawned tornadoes.”
Phil nodded thoughtfully, but he didn’t look up yet.
“That’s not all there is to it,” he said. “This is probably my last assignment. I knew it when they sent me here, and I was thinking about that when we took off this afternoon. I think maybe I was after one last hero call—flying into the face of danger, leading my boys on a daredevil mission. It was selfish. I’m glad it worked out,” he added quickly, meeting her gaze at last. “I wanted to bring back something that would prove you were right, though I’m not sure why.”
She smiled at him wanly and sipped slowly at her wine. Their sandwiches were slow in coming, but neither of them minded.
“I’m grateful for that,” she said. “I’m afraid it might not matter much, but I am grateful.”
Phil noticed that her smile had faded. “What’s wrong?”
“They’re going to close down my branch of the project,” she replied. “We’ve made some progress, and today was a good indicator that we might be on the right track, but it isn’t enough. Not for Washington to keep parting with the funding. They are giving all their attention to the war in Southeast Asia, and I can’t really blame them. For all the data we’ve gathered, and all the things we’ve learned about hurricanes, we can’t really claim that there’s much chance we can stop one.”
“But what about today?” he asked her. “That storm fizzled. It was huge, and I saw it—the eye was very tight. What we did must have made a difference.”
Andrea shook her head gently. “Probably it did,” she said. “In fact, I’m very nearly certain that it did, but the change could have happened naturally. There are plenty of recorded cases where storms that looked like they might wipe Florida off the map have turned back to sea, or fallen apart. All it takes is the right environmental conditions—a shift in water temperature, a cold front blowing in from the right direction.
“We’ll check all of those things, of course. We should even be able to prove that none of these conditions was present at the time the storm weakened, but it still won’t be conclusive.”
Phil was silent at this, and after another drink of her wine, Andrea went on.
“All our hope rested on that storm staying small,” she said. “If it hadn’t grown so large, and you’d made the same sort of difference that you did, you might have stopped it entirely.”
“Can’t we try it again?” he asked, frowning.
“I don’t think we’ll get the chance,” she said. “Not with Operation Stormfury, anyway.”
He thought about what she was saying, and then asked, “What do you mean? Are there other projects trying to do the same thing?”
“Not yet,” she looked up at him and her face lit with a smile. “Not yet, but there will be, and soon. This is my life, Phil,” she said. “It’s what I’ve studied to do since I was a little girl, what I’ve based my education on. These storms can be stopped.”
She fell silent, but not before Phil caught the short catch in her voice. “What happened?” he asked her gently, sliding his hand out from under hers and laying it on top.
She didn’t speak at first, and Phil had just begun to wonder if he’d gone too far too quickly, or if he’d touched a nerve he hadn’t been aware of. Eventually, she started speaking, but she didn’t raise her eyes.
“I lost my father to a hurricane,” she said. “It tore through my house, flooded everywhere near us. Daddy tried to rescue one of our neighbors, and her house collapsed into the flood.”
“I’m sorry,” he said, knowing how inadequate the words were.
She shook her head gently and went on. “It’s okay. It was a long time ago. We moved inland then. My mother was never the same. I don’t think she’s gotten close enough to the ocean to hear the surf since the day we were rescued. She took me away from the ocean, and the beach. I didn’t say anything to her then, but as I grew older, and the memories of that storm didn’t fade away like everyone said they would, I knew I was going to have to take matters into my own hands. If no one else was going to do something about the storms, I knew that I had to try.
“I did well in high school and managed a scholarship to UNC. I studied meteorology at first, and some engineering. They thought I wanted to be a weather girl on some local television station, so at first they humored me. By the time I was ready to graduate with honors they had to take me seriously.
“Ever since then,” she went on, “I’ve worked to increase my knowledge of hurricanes and tropical storms. I’ve been involved in several research programs. I patented two enhancements I suggested in the design of Doppler radar, as well as a design for home foundations more likely to resist the onslaught of storms. I’ve done pretty well for myself,” she smiled at this, though Phil saw that she didn’t put much humor behind it.
“So, you’re rich and smart?” he asked, hoping to break the sudden gravity of the mood.
Instead, she just nodded. “I suppose I am,” she replied. “But the money isn’t for me. It never was. If they shut down Stormfury, I’ll open my own center for storm research. There are at least a dozen other ideas that have never been tested that—in theory—could stop or weaken a hurricane. If even one family can be saved . . .”
The waitress arrived at that moment, and it gave Phil a chance to think. He smiled at the girl as she placed a steaming roast beef sandwich in front of him, and tuna salad in front of Andrea. He asked her to refresh their drinks, and when she was gone, he turned back to his companion.
“It sounds like you might need a pilot,” he said without preamble.
She stared at him, and he held up a hand to stop her from speaking. “Hear me out first,” he said, “and then we’ll get back to our meal. I don’t have much time left in the U.S. Navy, and I have no intention of being grounded by retirement. I could go and fly for one of the airlines, but somehow that doesn’t appeal to me. I know you don’t know what you will do, or need, at this point, but keep it in mind. If you open your storm center, and you need a pilot, I’m your man. I’ll be honest—I’ve never lost anyone to a hurricane, but after what happened today, I’d sure like another crack at one.
“Besides,” he grinned, “if I go back home the only work they’ll have is crop-dusting, and I might be brave, but those guys are crazy.”
Andrea laughed. She ate some of her sandwich in silence and watched him out of the corner of her eye. It was true. When she got things going at the center she would need a pilot, and a good one. Probably more than one. A single plane wasn’t enough to seed even a small tropical storm, and as much as they spent their time studying the smaller hurricanes, what Andrea wanted was to find a way to strike back at the big ones.
“I may need more than a pilot,” she said. Then, when he grinned at her and she realized why, she blushed hard and laughed.
“I mean,” she corrected, “I will need someone to find and manage several pi
lots. Even as big as that storm got today, there are bigger ones, and those are the ones that need to be stopped. Those are the ones I’m after.”
Phil just nodded. His sandwich was gone, and he was back to sipping his beer.
“If you are serious,” he said at last, “I’m in. It’s not going to be immediately. My tour is up in October, and I’ll have some details to wrap up after that, but otherwise I’m free. I’ve been waffling over whether I’d let them put me behind a desk somewhere, or what I might do if they asked me to retire. The timing on this couldn’t be better.”
“It’s settled then,” Andrea said, and held out her hand.
Phil shook it solemnly, but there was a twinkle in his eye. “Don’t think,” he told her with a wink, “that being my boss is a way to get out of buying me a steak.”
Andrea laughed, and it felt good. She’d left the base feeling down and discouraged, and somehow that had faded. It would be difficult to be on her own. Getting the equipment she needed would be expensive, and getting personnel qualified to operate it would be difficult. She could get any number of people familiar with the electronics or the meteorological aspects of her plan, but finding a group dedicated enough to share her vision was an entirely different story.
Still, what had seemed a daunting, impossible task moments before was beginning to look like a refreshing challenge. She lifted her glass and held it out to Phil, who raised his beer. “To new partnerships.”
Phil smiled and nodded. “I’ll drink to that,” he said. “I will certainly drink to that.”
They finished their drinks, rose, and made their way slowly to the door. They didn’t hold hands, and when Andrea dropped Phil back off at the base to pick up his car, they didn’t kiss goodbye, but the potential hung in the air between them, and they parted with a smile. The night had ended, but something else had begun, and they both felt like it was going to be big.
PART THREE
Mote in Andrea's Eye Page 9
